The Most Beautiful Flower
by shadowkat678
Summary: They say it's always the most beautiful of flowers that bud the smallest, bloom the latest, and wilt the fastest. A Lily is no exception…


The Most Beautiful Flower

By Shadowkat678

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**Disclaimer: I am not rich nor do I own a multimillion dollar franchise, so it's safe to assume I am not the owner of Harry Potter. **

**This is for the Divergent Challenge. Dauntless, quote number two. "Why do people want to pretend that death is sleep? It's not."**

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The viewing took place on the day of November the fifteenth at a church located in Cokeworth, the childhood town of Lily Potter.

The sky was overcast and the wind blew bitterly cold. It was snowing early that year, and each time he saw a snowflake fall he couldn't help but compare it to her, its whiteness to the whiteness of her cheek, its beauty to her own. He paid little attention to the messy haired man lying still in the coffin beside her, his dark hair just as cockily tousled as ever. No, he didn't matter. Not anymore. All he had eyes for was the woman, her red hair laid out gracefully in a cloud around her shoulders, her emerald eyes closed tight. She was as beautiful in death as she'd been in life. In fact, Lily might have been sleeping, for the image was so peaceful. But even the preservation charm couldn't hide the slight tinge of blue in her lips, or the paleness of her once bright cheeks.

Why do people always want to pretend that death is sleep? It's not. Death isn't sleep at all, and Lily's wonderful green eyes would never open again...

No one noticed as the greasy haired, hooked nosed man at the back of the crowd slipped silently out of the church courtyard, desperate to escape the droning of the tall, slightly plump wizard upfront.

It was always the same speech, no matter who it was who gave it. "They'll be missed greatly; they were good people." Sometimes even the, "They'll be in a better place now." There was no emotion, just the flat voice of a well-rehearsed speech spoken one too many times. As if any of them really knew her, as if they ever really knew either of them. It almost made him physically sick. Half of the people at the viewing had probably never even met Lily or James Potter, let alone felt anything when they died besides a sick relief at the war's long awaited end.

They weren't there to mourn. They were there to celebrate the Potter's son. No one would remember the little girl whose laugh rang out like a bell, who always went out of her way to help others, even when it was at her own expense. No one would remember the way her eyes lit up when she smiled, or those small acts of kindness for the nine year old boy with the bruises and mismatched clothes. If Lily were remembered, it would only be as the mother of the Boy-Who-Lived. If they remembered James, they'd call him a hero for his stupidity. No one would remember the stuck up arrogant bully of a boy he always was.

No, they'd never remember the people, just the names...

Somewhere behind him the church bell gonged noon, its tone ringing deep and solemn through the air as he trudged through the deserted streets, trampled snow crunching softly under his feet even as a new snowfall promised to cover up his tracks.

Severus Snape pulled his winter cloak tighter about him, trying to retain as much body heat as possible in the snowy weather, but he knew it wasn't just the cold air that sent a chill ripping up his spine. His cloak could never be warm enough to melt the block of ice growing around his heart...

The previously neat buildings made way to a roughly cobbled street as he walked, its rows upon rows of dilapidated brick houses, broken street lamps, and a rundown brick chimney rising up in the distance all coming together to give off an air of neglect to the scene.

This was the childhood home of Severus Snape, and he loathed it now more than ever before.

He branched off the main road and continued on in bitter silence, the smell of the stagnant stream running at the edge of the neighborhood drifting to him through the air.

Snape reached the last house on Spinner's end, a two story brick building even grubbier than the rest, pulled his wand from his pocket, and magically unlocked his door, as its Muggle lock had broken years ago. He went to enter, but hesitated, his hand stopping just short of the handle. Pulling his wand out once more, he relocked the battered old door and quite suddenly walked away.

He didn't know what compelled him to do so, but soon he found his feet carrying him by long habit to the riverbank and within minutes he stood once more at the spot that he'd spent so much of his childhood. It was the one place besides Hogwarts he felt at peace, safe from his home as the willows blew softly in the wind, trailing their branches in the lush grass at the water's edge. If he closed his eyes, he could still see it, just as it used to be.

There was no more snow, just grass, warm and green under the bright blue sky. Numerous flowers bloomed along the banks in the summer heat, and he could see himself once more as a nine year old boy lying on the ground with a bright eyed Lily Evans beside him. Even then he had loved her, loved the secret they shared and the way she would smile at him, her green eyes glowing. Most of all, he had loved to make her laugh. He watched a look flicker in her eyes as he poured out everything to her, an unspoken promise of a secret they'd carry together. It was a look he'd never received from anyone else, a look of understanding. But then it was gone, the moment lost once more in the stream of time.

He opened his eyes and let go of the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, tracing its silent white course as it rose like a silent prayer to Heaven.

Severus Snape had never claimed to be religious, never believed that such a kind, caring God could exist with his life as it was. What God, after all, could let a nine-year-old boy watch as his mother cowered before his father as she was beaten bloody on their kitchen floor? What God could let Lily die? What God would leave him alone? But Lily had believed there was one, and for the first time in his life, he found himself hoping there was a God too, though he knew even then he would never deserve to see her again, never deserve Lily. For her sake though, Severus hoped she was right, and that her parent's Muggle religion wasn't the rubbish he'd always thought it was.

He would gladly take Hell if only Lily got the Heaven she deserved.

Snape didn't know how long he stood there, but when he left a new layer of snow had already fallen, and his footprints only reopened the wounds his previous steps had created.

The last thing he saw as he walked away was a small lily, barely more than a bud, sticking out its head as the rim of yellow running at its petals edges stuck out in the whiteness and making it shine...

As he brushed the snow off himself and reentered his house, the small flower stayed in the forefront of his mind. The flower, as well as the woman who took so closely after it.

Many people would say that the rose is the most beautiful flower, but in the mind of Severus Snape, they'd were wrong. Where the rose has thorns that prick for protection, the lily hides behind nothing. It's pure and honest, small and simple, but yes, the lily is just as beautiful as the rose, resilient and stubborn enough to bloom even in the coldest and darkest of times.

The lily is the most beautiful flower of all.

In the years that followed, he'd only return to the spot once more. The following week, he too would be gone, and in his dying thoughts that small flower bloomed, just like the woman. And with that image firm in mind, Severus Snape closed his own eyes for the final time...

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**A/N: Don't forget to tell me what you think, really boosts the old self esteem levels. I love hearing about the parts you guys like, favorite moments and such, but remember, tips are welcome as well. How else will I improve? Thanks to authorgirl7698 for betaing!**


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